


i do, i do, i do

by spaceburgers



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Meet the Family, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceburgers/pseuds/spaceburgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise's sister is getting married, and Kasamatsu is his +1 to the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i do, i do, i do

**Author's Note:**

> just in case you missed the homophobia warning in the tags, warning: homophobia!!! from kise's relatives!!!
> 
> also, according to wikipedia (which is how i know it's accurate) non-traditional western-style weddings in japan are typically held in a 'chapel' specifically for weddings in a hotel, hence the setting.

Ryouta’s elder sister gets married in the spring of his third year of college. Yukio’s met both of his sisters before, and it’s almost frightening how much they look like him – the three siblings are all very tall, very blond, and very, very good-looking. The elder sister is named Kiyomi – five years older than Ryouta – bold, brash, and very buoyant, in sharp contrast to her younger sister Chiyoko – three years older than Ryouta – quiet and shy, with a sweet smile that reminds Yukio of Ryouta’s more peaceful moments.

He first met them in his first year of college, a couple of months after he and Ryouta started officially dating; Ryouta’s mother had invited Yukio over for dinner, and even though Yukio really, _really_ wanted to refuse he said yes anyway, if only because he knew if he’d turned the invitation down Ryouta would have bothered him about it for the next two weeks straight. He’d spent the entire day before the dinner anxiously pacing the length of his pathetically tiny dorm room trying to figure out what to wear, but in the end he managed to have a surprisingly pleasant meal in the Kise household, complimenting Ryouta’s mom’s cooking in that boyish way he’d picked up at some point in middle school that never failed to charm any middle-aged woman – and it worked, of course, Ryouta’s mom practically fawning over Yukio by the end of the night as Ryouta’s sisters snickered at them in the background.

After that he never really saw Ryouta’s family again, just occasionally bumped into them along with Ryouta sometimes, and then Ryouta had moved to go to college and that was the last Yukio ever saw of them.

Until now, apparently.

“My sister’s getting married in two weeks,” Ryouta tells Yukio over the phone one day, “and I need a date.”

He’d just gotten back to his dingy apartment after work, and he’s barely done toeing off his shoes when Ryouta calls, and usually during the day Ryouta just texts him if he has something to say, which is how Yukio knows immediately that Ryouta has news – but even so, he hadn’t expected _this_ at all.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s great, congratulations to her, um—”

“Is something wrong?” Ryouta asks.

Sometimes Yukio hates just how perceptive Ryouta is. He sighs, stands up, moves over to his sofa before flopping down on it.

“It’s just – I’ve met your parents and your sisters and they were really nice, but, um… won’t all your other relatives be there too? Including that aunt that you hate?”

“Which one, there are several,” Ryouta mumbles under his breath.

“Look – that’s not the point.” Yukio sits up, presses his free hand against his forehead. “The point is – um, you know… are you sure you want _all_ your relatives to… well, to know? About—” Yukio waves his hand vaguely in front of him even though he knows Ryouta can’t see it. “— _us_.”

“Kiyomi loves you,” Ryouta insists. “If you don’t turn up her wedding will be ruined. Are you sure you can live with that guilt for the rest of your—”

“ _Again_ , not the point—”

“ _Yukio_ ,” Ryouta says. His voice is firm, and it makes Yukio pause. “If I hadn’t thought about this already I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?”

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard,” Yukio mutters, on reflex. Ryouta huffs impatiently over the phone.

“You always tell me to be serious, well, I’m being _completely_ serious right now,” Ryouta says, and Yukio can practically picture the way he’s pouting right now, eyebrows furrowed and his bottom lip trembling from the injustice of it all. “It’s Saturday morning, two weeks from now. Can you make it?”

Yukio’s Saturdays are always free, and Ryouta knows it. He slides back down onto the sofa, presses his head against a cushion.

“Yeah,” he says at last. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll be there.”

-

It takes one fashion crisis, one secondhand blazer that Moriyama seemingly procures out of nowhere, and one very, very confusing taxi ride before Yukio actually reaches the hotel where the wedding is supposed to take place. He somehow manages to still be on time, though, and he heads through the doors, trying not to look as out of place as he feels, before proceeding to look for Ryouta.

He manages to find the wedding venue by the following the trail of well-dressed, important-looking people, and then—

And then he spots Ryouta amidst the crowd, and his heart stops.

Ryouta’s leaning against a wall, hands in his pockets as he talks to Chiyoko, and smiling in a way that makes his eyes go soft. He’s wearing a sharp black suit that was probably tailor-made for him, judging by the way the material clings to him in all the right places, shows off the curve of his waist and the long lines of his legs, and Ryouta has always been beautiful but here he looks positively _radiant_.

And then Chiyoko catches his eye, points at him, and before Yukio can react accordingly Ryouta’s turning to look at him, that soft look in his eyes directed at _him_ now, and Yukio’s heart just swells in his chest.

Then Ryouta’s making his way through the crowd, zigzagging his way past groups of people before he finally comes to a stop in front of Yukio. There’s a crooked smile on his face that makes Yukio want to grab him by the tie and kiss him full on the mouth.

“Hey,” Ryouta says. He reaches out to straighten Yukio’s tie, and Yukio feels himself flushing all the way down to his throat. He takes a deep breath, sets Ryouta’s hands down, and Ryouta pouts, disappointed, but Yukio just glares at him even in spite of the lingering heat on his cheeks. Still, that glassy look still remains in Ryouta’s eyes, and it makes Yukio grasp Ryouta’s hand, squeezing it before pulling away again – a weak apology, but an apology nonetheless.

“Come on,” Ryouta says, smiling now. “Let’s head inside.”

Yukio nods, follows him in, standing close enough that their knuckles brush with every step.

-

The ceremony is beautiful. Kiyomi is beautiful, glowing from the inside out; her long hair is pulled into an elaborate bun and the full skirt of her dress almost makes it look like she's floating as she walks. Yukio’s never met the groom, but he can tell that Ryouta likes him, and the look on his face as he watches Kiyomi walk down the aisle is really enough for Yukio to know he’s a good person.

Their vows are short, simple, but peppered with inside jokes that Yukio doesn’t quite understand but that make sections of the audience roar with laughter and approval, and before, Yukio was expecting pomp and circumstance but the atmosphere within the chapel is cozy and warm, and it’s nice. It’s really, really nice.

He also expected Ryouta to cry, and _that_ particular prediction does come true. Halfway through the vows Ryouta discretely pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, blows his nose as quietly as he can manage, and Yukio takes his free hand, squeezes it, and they exchange a quick smile.

“I love you,” Ryouta whispers. Yukio’s smile goes soft, and he lifts a hand, brushes a thumb across Ryouta’s cheek, quick so they don’t get caught.

“I know,” Yukio says, his voice low. “Now pay attention, your sister’s getting married.”

Ryouta smiles, turns back to watch the proceedings, and their hands stay interlinked throughout the rest of the ceremony.

-

There’s reception afterwards, and that’s when everything goes to shit.

The bride are groom aren’t there yet, and Yukio finds himself seated at the same table as all of Ryouta’s family, wedged between Ryouta and Chiyoko, which he appreciates _immensely_ even though he still finds himself stuttering a bit whenever he has to talk to her, but it’s fine, because she’s quiet and polite and spends most of the time talking to her own date anyway. And Ryouta’s there, of course, his leg pressed against Yukio’s under the table the entire time.

Ryouta’s parents are there, and they’re both very, very nice, obviously making a concerted effort about it, asking him things they already know for the sake of polite conversation, probably subtly trying to let the rest of the table know that he has an education and a job and is perfectly respectable and for a moment Yukio thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , he can actually do this—

And then some aunt or great-aunt or whatever at the far end of the table clears her throat, turns to Ryouta, says pointedly, “So, Ryouta-kun, how did you meet your _friend_?”

Yukio feels it right away when Ryouta tenses up next to him. He puts a hand on Ryouta’s thigh, steadying, but nothing stops Ryouta when he’s like this, all tightly-coiled anger, hands balled into fists under the table.

“Boyfriend, actually,” Ryouta corrects, raising his voice probably higher than necessary, and Yukio hates that he can see immediately the way almost everyone around the table tenses up at the word.

“Ryouta-kun,” that same aunt says, her voice admonishing, placating. “Is this really appropriate? _Now_ , at such a happy occasion…”

“Yes, it _is_ a happy occasion,” Ryouta says. He’s so tense, and his voice is so strained, and Yukio wants nothing more than to take his hand and take him away from this place, “which is why I’m sharing it with Yukio, my _boyfriend_ , whom I love, and who Kiyomi loves, and if you thought even for a second that I—”

“ _Ryouta_ ,” someone hisses, and Yukio is all ready to say something in return when he realizes that it’s Chiyoko who’s spoken up. She’s staring at Ryouta, eyes narrowed, and Ryouta stares back, face slack. The entire table is silent.

“Fine,” Ryouta says at last. “Fine, I’ll just— I’ll _leave_. I wouldn’t want to spoil this day for you, _auntie_.” He practically spits out the last word, doesn’t bother to wait for a reaction, just gets up abruptly and leaves, clearing a path through the crowd, and then he’s gone.

Yukio stays very, very still the whole time.

Ryouta’s empty seat feels like a gaping hole next to him and Yukio just _sits_ there, stupidly, looks down at his hands, realizes that he’s clenched them into fists at some point throughout the whole exchange.

Then there’s a hand on his arm, solid and warm; it’s Chiyoko, her eyes soft and kind and apologetic. She doesn’t need to tell him to go, but he understands anyway, gets up without a single word, smiles at her, turns around and goes.

-

Yukio eventually finds him on some balcony on the second floor, curved in on himself, his elbows resting against the railings.

“Hey,” he says. Ryouta startles, turns around, and now that Yukio can see his face it’s obvious that he’s been crying.

“Oh.” Ryouta sniffs, scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. “It’s you.”

Yukio walks forward, takes Ryouta’s hands in his, and Ryouta takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” Ryouta murmurs, looking down at their joined hands.

“It’s not—”

“It _is_ my fault, if I’d known this would happen I wouldn’t have asked you to come.” Ryouta pauses, shakes his head. “I should’ve _known_ this would happen”

“There’s no way you could’ve—”

“They’re my family, Yukio, of course I would’ve known.” Ryouta laughs then, but it comes out bitter and pained and wrong, and Yukio just squeezes Ryouta’s hands wordlessly. “I guess part of me wanted to believe that… that if I brought you here, and let everyone see how amazing and wonderful and incredible you are they would’ve… you know. Been okay with it. Liked you, even.”

“Chiyoko likes me,” Yukio says. “And Kiyomi. And your parents. And you.” He leans forward, kisses Ryouta on his jaw. “That’s enough for me, really.”

Ryouta smiles, watery and unsure, but it’s _there_ anyway and it makes Yukio lift his hands to frame Ryouta’s face, tilts it down so he can kiss him full on the lips. The moment their lips touch a sigh escapes from Ryouta’s parted lips, and like a spell’s been broken he relaxes immediately, shoulder slumping, hands moving to circle Yukio’s waist.

When he pulls away the smile on Ryouta’s face is brighter now, more genuine, and Yukio strokes his thumb across Ryouta's cheek one last time before letting go.

“Should we go back?” Ryouta says.

“No,” Yukio says, certain.

“But my sister—”

“Will understand.” Yukio sighs, frowns at the petulant look on Ryouta’s face. “Go on, give her a call, we can meet her after the reception’s over.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re fleeing to Europe the moment they so much as step outside this hotel, though,” Ryouta answers, lips twitching. Yukio snorts.

“Then you’d better hurry up and call her,” he says, smiling.

“Later,” Ryouta answers, and leans in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this after my cousin's wedding, like, two months ago but obviously i left in on the back-burner for a /while/
> 
> this is was supposed to be fluff and smut and then it became mildly angsty with no smut. typical.
> 
> title taken from [helpless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrJjAoPhjv4) from hamilton the musical which you should totally check out btw


End file.
